


Send Me Reeling

by Gildedmuse



Category: Rent (2005), Rent - Larson
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedmuse/pseuds/Gildedmuse
Summary: Mark's world is being spun around, and it makes him uncomfortable. His boyfriend and best friend thnk he needs to relax.





	1. Send Me Reeling

**Author's Note:**

> [Written in 2006 as a birthday present for my friend David]

Mark still can't believe he's here. His stomach keeps twisting itself into new knots, each more painful then the last. He's so nervous he's sure it will leave him sick, and so elevated with this strange feeling of pride that he feels like pumping his fist in the air and cheering himself on. Over all, it leaves him feeling dizzy and afraid to move in case he ends up collapsing. So he's stuck standing in the foyer of the theater clutching his camera to his chest like a safety blanket and constantly reminding himself to breath.

 

He remembers Roger before he left, lips curled up into that wide, beautiful grin he gets when he's teasing Mark. "You need me to hold your hand?"

 

Mark had rolled his eyes and flicked him off. Now, glancing around the empty theater that he feels like he's being swallowed by, Mark wishes he had someone to hold his hand. He shouldn't even be here. That's something he's been telling himself since he first got that phone call. Or, well, the answering machine got the phone call, and everyone was in such shock that it wasn't Benny or a parent that they all stopped to listen. Mark sits there, legs curled under him, almost leaning into Roger as he stares at the answer machine at the deadpan voice that is saying, "Mr. Cohen? Mr. Cohen are you there? We're calling about your film, Proof Positive..."

 

There is no way. Mark must have said that a million times after the message played. There is no way. How did they even get the film? Collins was sitting on the chair, a small smile lightening up his face as he watched Mark stare at the machine, asking these questions. There is no way. It's not even done yet. There is still so much work to be done. Mark isn't finished, and how could they even think of playing it when he doesn't even consider it done?

 

"I think," Roger said, somewhere between a smile and sadness. "I think Mimi would want you to show it."

 

So of course, Mark ends up standing here in the foyer of the theater, having no idea where to go or why he is really here. It's for Mimi, though, and for Angel. One day, for Collins and Roger. Mark shivers in the warm glow of the huge theater. He hates when those thoughts manage to make it through. He'd rather be nervous about his film until he is sick then think of a day when he won't have Collins around to cheer him up, or Roger sitting in the corner with his guitar.

 

"Mark Cohen?" Glad to be pulled away from his thoughts, Mark turns around when he hears his name called, echoing through the empty lobby. A guy is walking towards him, slow and confidently but not cocky. Mark is good at taking in the details. The dark red hair pulled back in a small ponytail, the piercings along his ears, the deep smile on his face as he offers Mark his hand. Oh, right. Mark shakes his head, smiling just a little as he tries to swallow down the urge to turn tail and run.

 

"Oh, yeah. That's me," Mark says, holding onto the guy's hand a little longer than he means. He's afraid that if he lets go, he might take off for the door. The guy drops his hand, though, and somehow Mark manages to stay put. "And, uh... Are you.... Uh... Richard Bennings....?" Mark asks, dropping the name of the film festival sponsor the girl had left on his machine. He'd expected some suit; a yuppie who thought dipping into independent films would look good on his résumé. This guy is dressed like he's from the village, though, not like your average office worker. From his obviously home done, dark red dye job to the piercings gleaming in his ears, right down to the ratty jeans. Nothing about him is what Mark expected.

 

The guy gives a small laugh, dark eyes crinkling up as he smiles. "Not exactly," he says as he holds out a hand. Mark hesitates for a second before taking in, giving it a tight shake. "Vince Di'Anno," the young man says. "You're Mark Cohen, correct?"

 

It takes Mark a moment, his head is still spinning too fast, but eventually he nods. "Err... Uh, yeah. That's me." His palm is sweating. God, he should have rubbed them down on his corduroys, only maybe that would look too nervous. He really isn't sure how he should be acting,

 

"I recognized you from your film," Vince says, and Mark's stomach does a summersault, begging him to back out of the theater and just go back to the loft. Where it is safe, and no one has seen his film because he won't let them. Where it's impossible to judge him or tear him apart. So much of Mark is in that film. He doesn't want to know what people see in it. He doesn't want to have himself cut open and exposed like that. "It was-"

 

Mark takes a step back. "Err... They didn't say why I was supposed to come. They just sort of... invited me." Vince pauses, obviously thrown by this wild change of subject. Then he puts on a kind smile, and if Mark weren't this close to screaming and running in the opposite direction, a smile like that might make him feel just a bit better.

 

"Well, I don't really know," Vince says, turning on his heels and nodding towards a door. "I was just sent to come and find you. Come on." He starts walking off, and after a few deep breaths, Mark finds the nerves to follow. "You nervous?" Vince asks, as if everything about Mark's fidgeting and slightly shaking voice isn't giving it away.

 

He smiles a bit, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he nods his thanks, passing into the hallway as Vince holds the door for him. "I guess. I've never had a film in a festival before." He's always wanted it, of course, but in his mind the film is one that he has edited again and again to perfection and then submitted of his own free will.

 

Vince nods as he walks down the hall with Mark staying close on his heels. "Well, how old are you? Like, twenty two?" Mark nods, not bothering to add another year. "You're still really young, especially for a filmmaker. Twenty," Vince explains, "Is like a newborn to filmmakers."

 

"You don't look much older," Mark points out, almost on the defensive. Just because he's young doesn't mean he can't make a film. A film he isn't ready for people to see, sure, but he still did the camera work and editing and sound editing and everything that went into that piece. Yeah, it's a little raw and cheap and obviously done on less then even most indie films get produced for, but Mark had done it all without asking for his parents help, despite his age and lack of income.

 

Despite the slight raise in Mark's voice, Vince continues smiling. "Well, I'm Mike Nicco's AD."

 

If he were going to say more, Mark wouldn't have heard it. "Nicco?" He asks, and that defensiveness has all turned into reverence. "He did 'Welcome to Wonderland', right? The one about body image?" It's an old film, one that Mark had seen back in college. But, God, it had changed everything for him. "It was an inspiration," he says, sounding like one of those breathless fans talking to Roger after a show. "After that, I knew I had to do documentaries."

 

"Yeah," Vince agrees as he comes to a stop, and Mark is still caught up in the reel off his own head as it spins back to the college days when being a filmmaker had been as easy as simply saying he would be. "That film made me pretty much fall in love with him. I almost screamed when I got the job." He turns around, flashing Mark a smile as he puts his hand on the door he'd come to a stop at. "You ready, Mark?"

 

Any of the calm that had settled over him during their talk disappeared. No, he isn't ready and he never was going to be. He needs to run, to head home with his tail between his legs and never look back. Mark takes a deep breath and nods.

 

*

 

Mark never finds out how his film goes over at the festival. He spends the showing in the bathroom, sick, and afterwards refuses to read any reviews despite Collins instance that it had been amazing and fairly well accepted. It's not that he isn't glowing for weeks after, a small and goofy smile on his lips most days just thinking about it, but he isn't sure he can take it. Critics would make it's opening so official, would mean that the film is over and done with, and outside of that film, Mark isn't sure who he is anymore.

 

Even two months later he is sitting on the couch and staring at his camera, waiting for an idea to hit. He stares at it in deep contemplation, beads of sweat dripping form his forehead. If he isn't documenting his friends, what is left? That's been Mark's whole life this past year and a half. From that Christmas that Roger first got out of the loft, to last February at Mimi's bedside. Everything Mark couldn't deal with, every major moment of his life has gone into that film.

 

A knock on the door startles him out of his stare down with his camera. "Coming!" He shouts as he stands up, dusting off his corduroys and running a hand through his hair as he jogs over to the door. He pushes open the door, smiling as Vince steps in.

 

"Hey," he says, handing Mark a large brown bag. "I brought some drinks."

 

Mark pushes his glasses up his nose and tries to fix his hair again. He started hanging out with Vince the day of the festival and it turns out the guy is not only calming, but shares the same taste in films as Mark. It's the first time he could talk about photography and wide shots and the use of colors and someone actually got him. They started hanging out, just sporadically and then at least three times a week and now... Now Mark tries to fix his hair when he sees Vince. Not that it means anything.

 

Vince has on this cute little smile as Mark checks the bag. Not that he really notices when Vince looks cute. Mark muses over that idea a few times in his head, knowing that something is wrong with that statement. He directs his eyes to the twelve pack of some Canadian beer he doesn't recognize off the bat. Oh, look Mark. Beer. So much safer than guys he connects the word cute with. "You planning on getting me drunk?" He asks, pulling it out and setting it on the counter. The bag gets balled up and thrown at Vince, who laughs as he jerks back enough to swat it away before it hits his face.

 

"Maybe just a little," he says, reaching around Mark and tearing away at the cardboard to grab one of the beers. Mark follows suit, cracking his open as he pads back to the couch. The camera gets moved aside and both boys fall back on the couch, the wooden frame giving a loud protest under their weight.

 

"I don't even want to know what you'd do with a drunk me," Mark says as he takes a long sip of the beer. Vince smiles, the wide kind that wrinkles up his eyes and parts his teeth so Mark can see the gleam of his tongue ring. He's never been so curious about what it's like to date someone with a tongue ring before Vince.

 

He tips the can up until he can't see Vince around it, drowning half of the beer without taking a breath. He hopes the sorts of thoughts are normal. Of course their normal, he reasons, for guys that like sleeping with other guys. He hasn't had those thoughts since college. He is sure it was just a phase. A phase that got reignited by a filmmaker with a cute smile.

 

Jesus, when did he run out of beer? Mark sets down the empty can and frowns at it, as if it is it's own fault that he tried to drown those thoughts in alcohol.

 

"Remember how you said you needed some money?" Vince asks, apparently not feeling the urge to breath in his beer as he takes another, slight sip. Mark turns to the conversation, nodding. "I talked to Mike and he said-"

 

"You talked to Nicco?" Sometimes Mark still has slight over existed reactions with one of his favorite directors comes into the conversation. "About me?"

 

Vince looks like he wants to laugh, but has the decency not to. "I told you he thought you had real raw talent. I think you might have been plugging your ears and muttering about how you weren't listening, though."

 

"That's not true," Mark says, pouting just a bit. Kind of embarrassing that Vince noticed his habit of running off or changing the subject the second someone brought up the festival. It's fine for Collins or Roger to tease him about it. It's not like he needs to impress them. Not that he needs to impress... Fuck, Mark's mind is reeling.

 

Vince laughs softly. "Sure, Mark," he says, eyes wrinkling with his smile. "But I talked to him, and he said if you wanted to work on the camera crew for his next film he'd find a spot for you."

 

Mark's eyes go so wide he can actually fill the bulging. "He said that?" If Mark could film one of Nicco's movies... It isn't what he really wants, but it would be amazing to be on set and witness some real professional directing of a film with an actual budget. Not too mention paid work that doesn't leave him feeling like his soul had been drug through the mud.

 

"I told him you'd be interested," Vince says, and he's beaming like he feels all the excitement that is starting to bubble up in Mark's chest. Just as soon as he stops staring at Vince in this state of shock he'd start smiling back. How could all this be happening to him? Two months ago, one of his films had never been seen outside the loft. Now he's been entered in a film festival, and Mike Nicco is asking him to work on a film with him. Mark doesn't care how minor the roll is or how little it pays. It feels like something is starting. Something he's been waiting for since he's arrived in New York.

 

It's a weird sensation. This ache from his film being finished, and it had become so much about Mimi and Angel, and the end of that film met the wrap up of their lives. Mark hurts for that, for the loss of two such kind and passionate individuals, of his friends. He feels like he should still be morning them, still working on that film, and not feeling so elevated. Not having this opportunity, the moment right now where his chest is aching with something that - for once in a long time - isn't hurt or fear.

  
  


He feels hurt for not hurting more for them. Mark feels guilt for not feeling guilty.

 

"I was going to bring Clockwork Orange to celebrate but..." Vince trails off, but he manages to bring Mark back into the moment. He follows Vince's gaze, glancing around the loft, which is over stuffed with junk from the street and broken down furniture no one ever used.

 

Right, no television. Definitely no VCR. "Err... yeah," he says with a general wave to the mess of the loft. "Wouldn't have been very useless, I guess. I usually just sneak into the theater if I want to see a movie." Mark wonders if it's weird for a filmmaker not to own movies. Especially one at least one by Kubrick. "I mean, I don't think I've owned a tape since Star Wars."

 

Vince blushes for him, even if Mark isn't in any way embarrassed. Vince had a habit of smiling and blushing a lot more than any guy Mark had known. It's kind of endearing. God, he needs to stop thinking of the guy like that. "Stars Wars fan?" He asks, playfully prodding Mark in the arm. "I can picture that. You have the sheets and everything?"

 

"Maybe..." Yes, he had the sheets. And the curtains. And the actions figures, although he'd only admit to that under torture. "What? It had amazing effects. You can't tell me you didn't have the sheets."

 

"Nah," Vince says, pulling his hand away before Mark can swat at him. He shifts a little, scooting closer to Mark on the couch, and Mark finds himself not moving back. "I had classical Spiderman."

 

Part of Mark is glad to know someone was as geeky a kid as he had been. He imagined Maureen spent her entire childhood as the most popular girl in school, while Roger probably had bleached out hair by nine, and he can't even picture Collins as anything under a college student, much less a little kid. God, Collins probably ran naked through the cafeteria at age ten, shouting about anarchy and over throwing the regime. Scary how easy it is to picture that. "Comic book fan?" He asks, and there is a bit of excitement that he might have a chance to draw out his old Warrior comics with the V for Vendetta title just to prove he does have something political lying around the loft.

 

"Kind of," Vince answers with that brilliant smile of his, leaning in until their shoulders bump. "Guys in tights fan, really."

 

Mark laughs, barely nudging him back. "I should have known." He keeps chuckling as Vince leans in, and this time he does move back ever so slightly as he feels the hand on his leg. It's weird, how the heat from his hand shoots right up Mark's body, and he really doesn't mind the contact of the way he can feel Vince moving closer still. He just feels like he should, so he tries for a second to back away.

 

Vince's lips are chapped and rough against his, but when they brush Mark doesn't back away again. Mark can feel Vince's breath against his mouth, broken and nervous as he hovers there. It's not even enough to even call a kiss. Finally, Mark has to be the one to move forward until their lips are closed against one another. Both boys keep their eyes open, watching each other, as Mark parts his lips, and Vince's tongue finds it's way into Mark's mouth. The cool metal stub brushes over Mark's tongue as they press closer, nervous breath still between them.

 

It becomes a kiss, though, with the boys exploring the other's mouth with tentative licks. They take time to warm up to the other, to move closer together, to close their eyes and start concentrating on how their mouths feel joined together and even then it is still filled with a edginess that could snap any moment.

 

After a while Vince starts to pull back, and Mark leans in to try and keep him from leaving. There are a few more kisses between them before Vince can sit back entirely.

 

Mark feels like every nerve in his body is standing on end. The kiss had been so slow it left his heart racing. It been so little that it felt like it had been everything.

 

Vince licks at his lip, and Mark wants to lean forward and catch that tongue and ring in his mouth again. He isn't quite sure what is stopping him. It must be the air, filled with so much silence he isn't sure he can push through it all. Vince is watching him, looking for something. It's up to Mark, is what the look says. Whatever they do next is up to Mark.

 

If it were really up to Mark, they wouldn't be here. He thought he wouldn't have to deal with this again. It is easier to just like girls, and so any thoughts he had about guys could be shoved to the side as his simple eye for aesthetics. And then Vince had to go and kiss him, and right now Mark really wants to kiss him back because he's sweet and funny and into all the right films and a good kisser and he has that tongue rings. But Mark told Maureen she was just experimenting when she said she was bisexual. He was jealous that it was so easier for her to just accept herself like that even if it took her years to say it out loud, and he couldn't really go back on that now.

 

Mark has had years to train himself to only think of girls that way, and now he just wants Vince leaning over him again. It is supposed to be easier, just sticking with girls, not confusing him more. It's not like he's closed-minded, Mark just doesn't want to take his chances that maybe it is all just a phase in his head. Mark just wants to not have to wonder about these things. Mark just wants to kiss Vince again.

 

Mark takes a deep breath and leans in.

 

*

 

It's days like these that Mark really loves living in the loft.

 

Never mind that those days can be few and far apart in the winter, and most of the time it's a chore just to force himself to face it every morning. Or that simple things that most people can't live without like AC or hot water or heating or stable electricity or food are a rarity in the building. Some days, all those things can be over looked and all that misery that Mark has to drudge through, that just makes days like these worth more.

 

It's late September days like these, that Mark lies sprawled out over the couch with his head resting on Roger's lap, taking a long draw of the joint and letting the smoke flutter and float right into Roger's face. Roger laughs, deep and low and shaking Mark's head slight as his leg bounces, and brushes the smoke away from his face. His smile is all teeth, his green eyes light with the high. Mark isn't really sure what makes today so special, but he is enjoying this and doesn't want to question it.

 

Roger says, "Give me the joint," and Mark does. He wants to say 'What did she say to you?' but he doesn't. He wants to know what it is that Mimi said to Roger that left him like this. He didn't leave the loft for two months after her death, but he never collapses the way he had with April. He kept moving, like he's learned there is more out there to live for. Mark wants to know what she told him that changed Roger so much.

 

There is no easy way to say all that, and he doesn't want to break the mood, so Mark never mentions it. Add it to the long list of things he just never talks about. God, that list. He could make a film of just that list. The idea makes him smile.

 

Smokes curls out of Roger's mouth and dances away. "What are you smiling about?" He asks as he holds the joint back to Mark's lips. Mark keeps smiling, sucking in as Roger holds the pot in place. He doesn't say a word until he's let it burn into his lungs.

 

"Nothing," he says, smoke escaping as he speaks. He nips playfully at it, and Roger laughs at him.

 

"You're such a dork." He smiles as he says it, though, and Mark has never really minded being called a dork anyhow. Anyhow makes him think of Anyhoo makes him think of this teacher he had in seventh grade and for some reason, he smiles again. Roger seems to need a moment and another drag of the joint to contemplate this. "Are you thinking of him?"

 

"Who?" Mark asks, feeling like he should sit himself up so they can talk properly instead of with his head resting in Roger's lap. He's comfortable, though, and doesn't feel like struggling to sit up. So he stays where he is, looking up at Roger. "I can see up your nose."

 

It's such a throw away statement, but Roger grunts and lifts Mark up his lap, which isn't fair enough. There is a minor rumble with Mark trying to stay how he is and Roger pushing him before they end up in their new positions, but lying across the couch and curled up to face one another. "Vince," he answers and Mark smiles again. "Isn't he your boyfriend or something?"

 

"Hmm..." Boyfriend is a strong term, Mark thinks. After all, he hasn't actually told anyone. He doesn't want Maureen hearing about it. Part of him will always still love her, and there is some fantasy in his head that she'll come back. Besides, after getting on her about being a lesbian, he really doesn't want her 'I told you so' speech. "Why would you think that?"

 

"Everyone knows," Roger answers, and Mark isn't quite sure if that is the answer he was looking for. No. Not it's not. "You two are all over each other." That isn't true at all. Mark and Vince are only all over each other when they're alone, and Vince's hand goes to his knee and Mark can't help but lean in. God, he loves that tongue ring. "Why didn't you tell me?" There is a twinge of hurt in Roger's voice.

 

"I didn't know I was supposed to," Mark admits. Of course, that isn't exactly it. Mark has wanted to make sure this isn't some phase that is bound to wear off. Never mind that they've been dating two months. Four if you count all those times Mark didn't know they were dating. "Besides, you know."

 

Roger frowns. Mark studies him, wondering what it means. Roger hasn't frowned like that in a long time. "I just thought you'd trust me enough to tell me you were into guys."

 

"And girls," Mark adds very quickly. He doesn't want there to be any doubt that he still very much so into girls. "Why? Does it bother you?"

 

"Why would it bother me?" Roger asks, looking generally confused. Mark snatches the joint from his finger. He needs the sense of calm.

 

"It's not like Collins being gay," he says, which is something he's been saying to himself a lot recently. "It's like me..." Mark isn't sure he can say this. If he does utter the word, his mom is going to kill him. She is going to know, and she is going to drive up here and kill him. "Like me being bi."

 

"So?" Roger asks, making it perfectly clear that there isn't anything wrong with that. He has no idea how much Mark has been struggling with this idea. "So what. It's exactly the same as me being bi."

 

Mark takes a deep breath and lets the smoke settle in his lungs.

 

*

 

Despite Roger's instance that everyone knows (and that he's bi, but Mark refuses to acknowledge that) he still feels more comfortable pretending it's a secret. He tells Vince, and the guy just has to be so fucking sweet about it that it makes Mark sick for even asking in the first place. They keep dating, and he can tell Vince is taking it all slow for him, and for now it's a secret.

 

Oh, and then comes the sex.

 

They were sitting on the couch, kissing as usual instead of paying attention to whatever movie Vince had in, and somehow Vince ended up on his lap and somehow clothes got taken off (and 'somehow' Vince's jeans ended up torn as Mark tried to get them off as quickly as he Goddamn could) and before Mark had time to stop it, Vince was grabbing his hand and sliding it around until Mark's fingers are pressing up inside him. Vince whimpered, leaning forward and rock back against Mark's hand. "You sure you want to?" Mark had wanted to so bad he hadn't been sure he'd make it. That barrier of their relationship came down hard.

 

It's been a while since Mark's last relationship (okay, two years) and he'd forgotten a few things about sex. Not the important things like what goes where, but that one minor detail about the first time. That after that, for that first few weeks, all you want to do is have sex. That's how it is for Mark at least. All he can think about any more is how Vince looks when he's sprawled out on bed, or sucking on Mark's fingers or moaning as he takes him in or a thousand other things, most of which haven't even happened yet but Mark wants them to. He really, really wants them to. He stays up all night thinking about it and, well, doing things to keep his body busy why he thinks about it.

 

That's how Mark ends up slipping with the relationship. It's a month later and that feeling still hasn't worn off, so the quick kiss that him and Vince share outside the door, it ends up not being so quick. It ends up with Vince's hands creeping up his shirt and sliding his thigh between Mark's leg and Mark is rubbing up against him, running his hands through his hair and pulling him impossibly close so he can almost feel that stud of metal in the back of his throat. He isn't really sure how he gets the door open, but the two of them tumble into the loft without breaking apart from the heated kiss. Vince has this obsession with kissing, and Mark really doesn't mind. What he does mind is the jacket and shirt and pants and anything keeping them from fucking right now.

 

It's all a very messy train of thought as he pushes Vince up against the counter, hands under his shirt to try and pull it free. He doesn't notice anyone else in the room until the hand is on his shoulder.

 

Mark actually yelps when he jumps back. Roger quarks his lips slightly, watching Mark just standing there trying to catch his breath. "Thought he wasn't your boyfriend."

 

This could either get awkward, fast, or Mark could take off running for the hills. Reasonably, he knows that there are no hills in Alphabet City and Roger would probably catch him before he gets a step. Shit.

 

"Err..." Very plausible excuse Mark. Roger doesn't seem to be paying too much attention, anyway. He's glaring over Mark at Vince, who is still flushed and leaning against the counter, although now with his shirt down.

 

Vince collects himself quicker than Mark thinks up something intelligent to say. "Roger," he says with a slight nod as he picks himself up off the counter. Roger just keeps staring.

 

"I need air." Air entailed anywhere that isn't that room right then. Mark darts towards his own room, which reasonably has no cleaner air then the rest of the loft. It doesn't have Vince looking so fucking kissable and Roger staring down the guy Mark wants to be sleeping with. He closes the door, takes a deep breath...

 

Not helping.

 

"Okay.." Talking to himself. Not the best sign. Mark closes his eyes and tries to get a grip. Unfortunately, there is always an unfortunately, Mark lost the ability to keep himself steady a long time ago. Life has been slipping out of his control since Maureen came out and Mimi came in with her drugs and her smile, then Angel's death, Roger's running away, Mimi's death, his film getting entered in that festival. Mark didn't have control over any of it. Not over his own film, not of his own sexuality for Christ's sake. His mom would kill him for cursing like a Christian.

 

Mark looks up at the ceiling, looking for control. Behind the camera he is always in control of what the audiences sees and hears and feels. In his own life, Mark can't even get his own head on straight. It's starting to pile up, starting to weight him down.

 

There is a knock on his door, right where his head is resting. "Mark, you've been in there for twenty minutes," Roger says, and Mark can hear the worry in his voice. Mark tries to gather himself. He is strong. He is unfeeling. He doesn't have breakdowns.

 

"Mark?" Vince's voice, uncertain and concerned. "Are you okay?"

 

No. "Yeah," he says, pushing his glasses up his noses and rolling back his shoulders. He turns to open the door, ready to face whatever comes at him. Another deep breath, and he plunges back out into the living room.

 

Hot lips cover his open, chap and rough and aggressive as they slam against Mark's mouth. His eyes go wide as Roger kisses him, both of them stumbling back into Mark's room. Roger's tongue is in his mouth in a second, dominate and forceful, and before Mark has time to process he is moaning.

 

Roger pulls back and Mark barely gets a "What the-" out before Vince is beside him, cupping his chin and pulling him into a kiss. Softly, warmer except for that cold brush of metal. Mark finds himself clinging to Vince's shirt, his mind reeling. His best friend and boyfriend just kissed him and, well, he's thrown off.

 

Mark pulls away from the kiss, eyes darting between the two. He has a feeling a deep breath isn't going to fix this one. He tries to get a sentence out again, slowly in case he's cut off with a kiss. Kind of hoping he will be. "What's going on?"

 

Vince looks to Roger before speaking up. "We thought you needed to relax. You've been so tense..." Something in the way Vince glances at Roger, Mark starts to study his friend. Roger refuses to meet his eyes, his cheeks turning a brilliant red. It gives the impression that he's embarrassed about something that he said or suggested. Mark can't handle that thought.

 

"You did?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and still looking between them. At least they booth have the grace to look away. Only with his eyes down, Roger starts to move, sliding up behind Mark. Vince glances up, and Mark can feel the two making eye contact over his shoulder.

 

Roger leans in until Mark can feel his hot breath on his skin. He swallows hard, his body reacting before his mind can get it across that this is Roger, his best friend, who is licking at his ear and making Mark gasp. "Relax," Roger whispers in that low, dark voice. The one he uses on stage to get the audience where he wants them. Now it gets Mark whimpering softly, eyes wide as Roger's tongue slides over his neck. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

 

Rough hands, callused from years of guitar playing, run up under his shirt, brushing against his stomach. Mark inhales sharply, stumbled back and pressing himself into Roger. God, Roger's mouth on his ear, teeth scraping against the skin, and those rough hands as they climb up his chest. The sensible part of Mark is quickly losing out to his hormones.

 

Vince leans in, licking at his lips, that cold stub sliding against Mark's mouth. Mark moans, hips lips parting in an instant as Vince moves closer. With the way Mark is trembling, it feels like he's being held up between Roger and Vince, their bodies pressing into him, their heat rolling from their skin, making Mark's heart race. Vince's kiss is slow and soft before he breaks away, pulls back just enough that Roger can pull off his shirt. He can still protest. He can still stop this from happening. That's what he really should do. Instead he's letting Vince kiss down his neck, lapping at his skin while Roger seems to be touching everywhere at once, moaning into Mark's ear and making him whimper and press back harder. He can still pull away.

 

Then Vince's tongue slides over his nipple, wet and hot and metallic, and Roger rolls the other between callused fingers and - Fuck, Mark arches up, a cry catching in his throat as they work their hands and mouth over him. God, that ring and those fingers and just everything. Mark is on his toes, arching towards the contact and praying it doesn't stop. If it stops, he isn't sure he'll live. He hasn't been breathing normal since that ring brushed the sensitive nub of skin and if they don't keep touching him, his heart might give out.

 

They pull away almost together, leaving Mark whining and thrashing between them. Vince falls to his knees, licking down his stomach, and Mark really doesn't mind that he stopped anymore as he sees Vince's fingers working the button of his pants. He's hardly even aware of what Roger's doing as he watches Vince lick along his hips, slowly peeling back the corduroys.

 

Roger presses back against him and it's all skin against skin. Mark shivers, feeling Roger's chest against his back, his erection against Mark's skin. Oh God, he needs to be panicking now. Only Vince's tongue slides around the head of his cock and every nerve in Mark's body jumps. "Fuck!" he gasps, arching up, rubbing back against Roger and bucking into Vince's mouth, hot and wet and with a gleam of metal running over the tip of his erection. Oh, fuck, Mark is never dating anyone without mouth jewelry again.

 

His body shakes with Roger's small laugh. "That good, huh?" He asks, licking at Mark's neck as a rough hand slides down his stomach, curling into Vince's hair. Roger pulling Vince forward, thrusting his mouth down around Mark's cock until he can feel Vince's throat tighten around him, and Vince looks so good as he lets Roger control his movements, lips stretched out around Mark and skin flushes and he concentrates on sucking and licking and the small moans that make Mark's blood hum with need.

 

Mark mewls, his head falling back against Roger's shoulder. He could stay here forever, on the edge of orgasm with Roger's body pressing into him and Vince's mouth on him and his nails digging into his hips. Mark is shaking, lips trembling as he whispers random words, begging Vince and Roger for more. It's like an over dose of the senses, to have all of this.

 

He's really out of control, Mark thinks, but his mind is too wrapped up on the way Vince drags his tongue along the length of the cock in his mouth and Roger's rough hand stroking up his chest and he can't really find it in him to care.

 

Then the warm heat of Vince's mouth is gone. Mark opens his eyes, whimpering as he looks down to see what's wrong. He's being pushed, realizes a little late, back against the bed. Against Roger, actually, is what he lands on.

 

Roger growls, pulling himself out from underneath Mark, who is still feeling dizzy from everything that is going on, all of it so fast. "Wha -"

 

No body is going to let him ask a question. Roger claims his mouth, that's the only way to describe how he kisses Mark. A fierce clash of their lips and tongues that leaves Mark moaning, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets to try and keep himself grounded as Roger kisses him until any trace of a question leaves his mind.

 

When Roger pulls back there is this moment. His dark green eyes, always so intense with emotions, are looking down at Mark. Roger has never been good at hiding his emotions. He's the opposite of Mark in that way. Every emotion is powerful, everything he does filled with this passion. From locking himself in the loft to make a point about April's death and his own guilt, to the break down at Mimi's funereal. Roger is nothing if not his emotions.

 

Right now, Mark can see a hunt of something. Just the edges of something that Roger is trying to hide away. He sees it flicking in those eyes, the ones he's learned so easily to read. He can see it, and even though Mark can't name it, his body aches in reaction to whatever it is Roger is fighting to keep hidden.

 

Vince kisses him, and Mark opens his mouth to him but his eyes stay on Roger. Watching his best friend until he pulls away and it out of sight. Mark rolls onto his side, pressing closer to Vince. It had just been a moment's break in the rush that is going on around him, but his mind won't stop obsessing over it.

 

While Vince's warm mouth is sliding over his, a wet finger presses to his skin, slowly stroking down his back until - "Hey!" Mark turns around, rolling onto his back with his knees pressed together, eyes a little wide. Vince smiles against his skin, nuzzling into his neck as he runs a hand down Mark's stomach and leg, gently prying them apart.

 

"Relax," he whispers as he kisses down his neck, and Roger comes into view again, smiles as he lowers himself between Mark's spread legs. Mark closes his eyes. He doesn't want another moment. He wants to be lost in this feeling. Of Vince's lips along his collar, of his hands sliding down his stomach, of Roger's rough finger rubbing against him.

 

Mark whimpers softly as he feels the panic raising. "Vince," he whispers, and Vince's mouth is back against his for a warm kiss, his palm kneading against Mark's cock until he's moaning and rolling his hips up. Roger's finger works inside him, thrusting gently with the roll of Mark's hips. Mark tries not to think about it too much, or about the way Roger presses a second finger inside him and it stretches and aches but some part of Mark doesn't mind.

 

He can feel Roger's fingers curling inside him and, "Fuck!" Mark cries, bucking off the bed and down against Roger's hand. A jolt of heat rips through him, and Mark find himself holding onto the sheets again, whining softly and needing so bad it aches. God, it's been a long time since he's done this and why has it been so long when that single touch from Roger makes him feel like he's burning up.

 

He opens his eyes just enough to see the smirk on Roger's lips. "More?" He asks, and Mark nods eagerly. Vince licks along his lips as Roger twists a third finger inside him. Slowly, the thrust became hard and rough and Mark didn't care. He rocked back to meet them, moaning every time Roger rubbed against that spot. Between that and the way Vince's hand is on his cock, Mark is shaking, feeling that tight pressure coiled in him, needing just a little more.

 

He whines when Roger pulls his fingers away, his toes curling into the sheets as he lifted himself up, hips searching for contact. With one small kiss, Vince is gone and, God, they can't do this to Mark. He's so close, and he's whimpering, begging for them without a word. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, doesn't want to be in control. He just wants Roger and Vince and to come so hard he blacks out.

 

Panting and trembling, Mark can hardly prop himself up on his elbows, whining softly to demand what - oh. Mark's breath hitches, eyes going wide at the sight and, oh... Vince is sliding a condom on Roger, and their mouths are pressed together and part of Mark wants to scream because he's Vince's boyfriend and Roger's best friend and they're supposed to be paying attention to him, not sliding their hands across one another, mouths moving together.

 

Mostly, though, Mark wants his camera. Because, fuck, no one ever told him how beautiful two boys could be when they're sitting at the edge of your bed, locked in a deep kiss. When he starts breathing again, his hand begins to move down his chest to his aching cock.

 

The movement gets Roger's attention. He growls, pulling away from Vince. "Come here," he says, reaching down and pulling Mark up, and then he's pressing against both of them, and God it feels so good to be part of them. Before Mark can even kiss one of them, Vince pulls away and Roger is grabbing Mark's hips, twisting him around. Mark lands on his hands and knees and, oh God. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he feels Roger rubbing up against him.

 

Without thinking he's legs fall open, spreading himself eagerly. He just wants anything, with his cock burning and every nerve in his body trembling as it waits for more. Just anything.

 

He feels Vince's hand stroking along his hair. Mark tilts his head slightly, smiling up at him and grabbing his wrist, pulling him closer until Vince's erection is pressing to his lips. Still trying to catch his breath, Mark slowly leans forward, tongue running along his length.

 

Oh, God, Roger's cock pressing inside him. Mark closes his eyes tight as the latex rubs against his skin. He nuzzles into Vince's gentle hands, sliding his lips down around the head of his cock and, fuck, Roger's nails in his hips as he rocks forward. Fuck, it hurts but Mark doesn't want him to stop. He mewls, the vibrations shaking up Vince, whose hand tightens in his hair.

 

He can feel Roger leaning over him, hot breath on Mark's back. It's all happening so fast, and Mark has no control, and he isn't stopping it. He just keeps licking at the tip of Vince's cock as Roger starts to move, thrusting back into him with a slow rock of his hips. Right against, fuck, that spot, so that Mark is moaning and pushing back against him. He pulls Vince from his mouth, lapping along the length as his breathing becomes harsh and broken. He just needs Roger to move, faster and more, he needs more. He needs Roger slamming into him, harder, harder, "Harder!" Mark cries out as he pushes his hips back against Roger.

 

Roger moans against his skin, rocking into him, following Mark's voice and God, it feels so good to be sprawled out between these two men. Moaning, Mark takes Vince back into his mouth, cheeks hollowed around his erection as he moves, listening for Vince's moans and whimpers. A hand is sliding down his chest, another sliding around his hips and both meet on Mark's cock, brushing and needing and wrapping around him.

 

He comes with a scream around Vince, rocking up into those hands as he rides out the feeling, the coiled heat that is suddenly being ripped apart inside him.

 

He nearly collapses to the bed, would if Roger's hands weren't keeping him up. Mark isn't sure how he does anymore, but Roger is biting at his shoulder and slamming into him as he comes, and moments later Vince is choking on Mark's name as he fills his mouth. He lets them control him, then, as Vince leans down to lick the mess from his lips and Roger pulls out, his hands stroking Mark's bruising sides.

 

For a second, Vince pulls back and Roger disappears and Mark is left alone. He whimpers softly, wanting to know where the heat went, wanting them. Strong arms wrap around him, and then Vince is pressing into him, nuzzling at his chest, and everything feels so fucking good.

 

Mark lies between the two, gasping for air and never, ever wanting to come down from this high he is riding. God, maybe this is a hallucination. Mark doesn't even care, so long as he always feels like this. Behind him he hears Roger grunt as he presses himself closer to Mark, but Mark doesn't pull away. Too exhausted, he tells himself, and pretends that is it.

 

"Nice tattoo," Roger says, his heavy, uneven breath against Mark's neck. He reaches out, running a finger over the two connect male sighs around Vince's nipple. Vince shivers at the touch, and Mark smiles at the memory of those rough pads against his skin.

 

"Yours, too," Vince counters, reaching over and stroking Roger's arm where the skull is pained into his skin. With both of their arms around him, Mark is surprisingly content.

 

Mark takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and falls asleep warm and worn out between Vince and Roger.

 

*

 

On Mark's list of Things He Doesn't Think Of, the very first is that time his mom walked in on him and his girlfriend trying to have sex. They were seventeen, and Sasha was thrashing under him telling him it hurt, and Mark was just trying not to come right away, and then the most efficient form of birth control ever opened his door to drop of his laundry. After that, every time Mark so much as touched Sasha, he had flashbacks to that moment. They broke up a week later.

 

Fourth or fifth on that list, depending on his mood, was that time Vince and Roger decided Mark needed to relax.

 

The problem with that, of course, is that despite it being on that list, Mark does think of it. Not obsessively but, well, okay sometimes obsessively. Every time he jerks off, at least. He gets these flashbacks of Roger's fingers inside him and Vince's tongue over him and he comes hard, every time. He's almost become afraid to jerk off, knowing every time he tries his mind is going to remember that night and come up with a hundred different ways it could have gone.

 

In a lot of ways, he'd rather be picturing his mom walking in on him and Sasha. At least the guilt he felt for that was only soul crushing every time he touched Sasha. This is every damn time Mark jerks off.

 

One of the days he wasn't thinking about that night is one when, maybe, he should have been. Five months or so after Vince and Roger woke up snuggling each other with Mark long gone, Vince says something like, "I love you."

 

Mark, happy to be in a relationship where the other person doesn't mind being ignored for his camera occasionally (a lot occasionally), says, "I want you to move in."

 

This is one of those times he should have been thinking about that night and, specifically, how after that night Roger keeps giving him these looks. The same one from that night, and Mark catches it every now and then when Roger thinks he isn't paying attention. There is something there, hidden, just out of Mark's grasp and part of his knows what it is, part of him knows and just won't let him face up to something like that.

 

Which is why he should know better, but he does want Vince to live with him, so in the end he blocks out those looks and helps Vince sell his apartment (you know it has to be love when he's selling his apartment with a working heater to move in) and pack his things and move into the loft. He tells Roger a week before hand and just prays that everything goes well.

 

The first day they carry bags over from Vince's house, Mark slides open the door and sees Roger on the couch, and he's just a little nervous as he steps inside. "Err... Hey, Roger."

 

Roger doesn't even look at him. He stares right past Mark with an emotion Mark very well could name, but he spares himself. "Vince."

 

Vince's hand lands on Mark's shoulder as he moves into the loft, wrapping an arm around Mark. "Roger." It's a nerve wrecking thing, hearing that same emotion echoed back in Vince's voice.

 

Mark takes a deep breath.


	2. Wind Me Up

"So."

 

"So..." Mark could probably spend all evening lying in bed with Vince. Maybe even more than that if he didn't need to eat or shower or anything, which he guesses he doesn't except for the starving to death thing, and he doubts Vince will have sex with him if he smells really bad. It's just so comfortable, really being tucked up against someone nice and warm and tracing his tattoos with the tip of his fingers as he nuzzles up against Vince's shoulder. It helps to clear Mark's head, when he can just lie here and listen to Vince's breathing and not be responsible for making sure Roger takes his pills on time or finding stuff on the street they can burn or anything like that. Just nice and safe and loved.

 

Only nothing can ever be just that black and white simple, which Mark really should have figured out a long time ago. But, still, he keeps holding onto the hope that this is going to just continue on exactly like they are right now, curled up around each other all nice and cozy. In Mark's head they just lie here all night and never do anything expect for touch and occasionally kiss and maybe fuck if Mark feels up to moving that much.

 

Of course, then Vince just has to be difficult about it. His hand strokes lazily through Mark's hair as he falls silent for another long moment, and really Mark should have known that he is just warming him up for that subject. The one that Mark really, really doesn't want to talk about, so of course... "There is this New York filmmaker's festival-"

 

"Don't." Mark actually has to move back, jerking away from Vince just enough so that he can glower down at him, trying to be as threatening as he can when he's half asleep and ruffled from sex. Hopefully Vince takes the hint and doesn't start up with this film festival thing again. Mark isn't sure how many ways to say no that he has left in him. It's especially unfair, jumping on him when they're snuggling. People shouldn't be expected to think when they're snuggling, should they? It's an unrealistic expectation. "Don't. You know I'm not going to."

 

Sighing, Vince frowns right back at him and props himself up so that he's face to face with Mark. Again, it's all really unfair to Mark because they have had this argument before and Vince knows that he is fucking horrible at fighting with him. "Mark, it would be a great opportunity, you know, to have your movie in another festival."

 

Pouting up at him (like that is going to have some sort of effect and finally get Vince to back down) Mark slips out of bed, pulling on some boxers. It is meant as punishment of sorts. See what he made him do? Now Mark has to get up and get dressed and everything. This is not how he wants to spend his time. It's cold out, and he wants to be cuddled up in bed talking about nothing, but now he can't even get that. "I can't," he mutters, busying himself with pulling on a shirt so that his voice is muffled. Maybe Vince won't hear him and just give up.

 

"Why not?" No such luck today. Mark knows why he is being so adamant about it. The cut off date for submissions is tomorrow and Vince has been trying to get Mark to do it for weeks now. Mark, being an idiot, had said he'd think about it the first few times. Apparently, in Vince's mind, this means that if he bothers him about it enough he'll give in. "Mark, it's a really touching film and I think it deserves-"

 

"It's not even done yet." Mark zips up his jeans, running a hand through his tussled hair as he frowns at Vince, still laying there under the covers that he chased Mark out from beneath. No, Vince isn't trying to chase him off. He just doesn't get it, and maybe that is Mark's fault for never explaining but, well, he doesn't really get it himself so how the fuck is he going to tell someone else? "I can't show it again. It doesn't even have an ending."

 

Vince slowly sits up, and even with the squeaking of the bed and the ruffling sheets there is a silence around them. It's the kind of silence that comes right before something that you don't want to hear. "What do you -"

 

For a moment there is this bone rattling sound and Mark is pretty sure his ears are about to bleed. He has never been so thankful for broken amps.

 

"Fuck," Vince says, wincing as he plugs his ears, looking over to the door. Mark is more used to this. He just shakes off the shock of hearing the whole loft vibrating with the static and bad noise off. "What is that? It sounds like someone beating a whale with a dying cat."

 

"It's Roger," Mark says over the guitar being tuned in the other room, and the volume drops as Roger figures out how awful his amp sounds. "And we don't even own a cat, I promise." Mark smiles weakly at Vince, as if to apologize as he heads to the door. Secretly, he could just kiss Roger right now for stopping that conversation.

 

Well, not actually kiss him. They did that once before Vince moved in and, well, it isn't like Mark... No, he isn't even going to think about that anymore. Those thoughts, they just lead to really bad places, because friends don't let friends jerk off to thoughts of their friends. Oh, fuck, that didn't even make sense.

 

"Roger," Mark says, closing the bedroom door behind him as he steps out into the loft. Roger doesn't even hear him, or doesn't bother answering. Just keeps his lip between his teeth like he does when he's concentrating, staring down at the guitar in his hands and riffing it again. "Roger, that thing is making my thoughts jump." It's always a good thing when he can blame those stupid thoughts he has about Roger on Roger.

 

Glancing up at him for a second, Roger sighs and reaches over, turning the volume down even more until it doesn't make the ceiling shake with its force. It's a good thing. Their ceiling isn't exactly stable as they found out when Benny, Collins, Mark, and Roger decided to have a game of who can throw the can of beer the highest. Those games only seem like a good idea when there is pot involved, or until the skylight shatters.

 

"Sorry," Roger says, and he's playing still but it doesn't hurt Mark's ears. Well, not as much. "I'm having trouble, making this tune."

 

"It's the amp," Mark points out, and he knows that Roger knows this, and simply doesn't care, but its part of his role to speak up about it anyway. Sure enough, Roger doesn't stop playing. "I thought you sold that old thing." He doesn't say 'after Mimi died' because it isn't written into their little script. Besides, no one really has to. Mimi is the reason he wrote his last song, Mimi is the reason he played again, and Mark just assumes that when he didn't see the guitar for so long after the funeral that Mimi is the reason he would give it up.

 

The year after April, Mark was used to never hearing the guitar like he had all the time when he first moved in. He'd gotten that back when Mimi came into Roger's life, but after her he didn't even see it propped up in its old, familiar corner like a small piece of what was left from their younger years when Roger actually could be a rock star and Mark could maybe one day finish a film. Roger had his reasons, Mark figures, and he never said anything about the fender.

 

Only now its back in Roger's hands like it never left. Except for maybe a short stay in hell where it picked up that sound that could probably kill someone if they were forced to listen to it for too long. Mark just grins and bears it, though, because Roger playing again is worth smiling for, even if it's really crappy sounding.

 

"No," Roger mutters, not looking up from his guitar even though they both know that he isn't going to sound any better until he fixes the amp. "Just put it away for a while."

 

It's weird, because again Mark doesn't want to be talking about this and again he's saved, this time by Vince popping out of the room, fully dressed and smiling at Mark as he gives him a quick kiss. It's so quick, actually, that it sort of startles Mark. Much more than it should. "I'll see you after work," Vince says and, right, sometimes Mark forgets that someone he lives with has an actual job.

 

"See ya," Mark says, giving Vince a wave and that's all he has time for before Vince is gone. He stares at the door longer than he should, trying to fight against the urge to over-think about everything. Like why sometimes he forgets that Vince is there, and why he is working so hard not to think about the ending of his film. He really needs to get the hell out of his own head.

 

"You know..." Mark looks back to Roger, who is still staring down at his guitar like just watching it long enough will fix the sound. "I don't get what you see in him. He isn't your style."

 

Mark wonders if Roger ever plans these types of things, saying something so unexpected that Mark's thoughts get whiplash, trying to change over with him that quickly. They had been talking about Mark's film, and he's thankful they're not on that anymore, but then it's about Vince, and what does Roger mean he isn't his style? "I don't have a style," Mark says, and to prove it he pulls at the sweater he's wearing. Nope, no style here. Maureen spent about one fourth of their relationship telling him that.

 

Roger looks up at Mark, rolling his eyes like this is all some huge deal and Mark is missing it. He hates feeling like that, like there is something he isn't let in on. Especially when it's about him. Mark spends way too much time being introspective. People shouldn't know things about him that he doesn't or all that time is a waste. "You do," Roger says. "Just because it isn't a good style doesn't mean it isn't there."

 

"Okay," Mark says, arms crossing over his chest and about a step away from pouting. Not that he would be - Come on. Does Roger really think he is going to be right about this? "What's my style?"

 

"Not Vince," Roger answers as he strikes a chord that sounds sour and glass-breaking once it echoes out from the amp. Mark actually feels a little nauseous when that sound hits him. Roger really needs to go back to his acoustic for a while.

 

"Not-Vince is not a style," Mark points out. Not Vince is everyone else in the world, right? And Mark wouldn't date just any of them. Besides, he's with Vince, which is a scary thought all on its own because Mark is no good at this dating thing and his mom would kill him if she knew. The point is, clearly Vince is his style. "What's wrong?" Because something has to be, or at least should be, wrong for Roger to be jumping at him about Vince for no good reason. Mark knows Roger has never been overly fond of Vince, especially not since he moved in and all, but still that is just Roger being Roger, and usually he at least tolerates him.

 

"I'm just saying that he isn't it," Roger says, plucking aimlessly at the strings, each note making Mark's skin crawl. "I know your style and it's more... dramatic than just another filmmaker. More limelight and temperate and shit like that."

 

"Oh, gee, thanks but she's a lesbian now, remember?" Roger snorts and smirks a little like he always does when it's Maureen's latest taste that is brought up. Mark probably shouldn't think of it that way, seeing as Maureen has been with Joanne longer than she was ever with Mark. Probably longer than she's ever been in any relationship, so taste might not be giving it enough credit. And it isn't like Mark even wants to date Maureen anymore. He likes their new thing, this just being friends thing. It helps that every time Maureen does something stupid (like standing up on a bar, drunk off her ass and starts stripping) he can just smile and let Joanne deal with it. "Anyway, what is so wrong with having a 'style' that doesn't get up and sleep around with everyone she meets?"

 

The bad notes and static from the amp stop, and Roger cocks his head, frowning up at Mark, who just stands there, trying not to fidget and feeling like an idiot because he doesn't even know why. It's just the look that Roger is giving him, like he's really messed up this time. Mark hates that look. He would much rather be filming that look than receiving it, see if it makes everyone else feel as unsure and small as it does with him. "I would never cheat."

 

"No," Mark agrees, shaking his head and glad to have that excuse to look away, even if just for a second. "No, you're too much of a girl to cheat..." It is supposed to be a teasing comment, but it falls so flat that it hurts and leaves Mark standing there with Roger's eyes still on him in one of the most awkward silences he's ever remembered feeling. Right now, he'd really like to be interrupted but this time, there is no one around to distract them.

 

Mark takes a slow step back, like moving too fast could make the room explode. The air is dense enough with something that it's possible anything at all could trigger it to blow up. He's careful when he grabs for his jacket, not wanting to set this off. Not wanting to hear it or think about it. Just get the hell out of here and let everything settle down. "I'm going to go catch up with Vince," he says, pulling his jacket on and still moving slow, trying not to meet Roger's eyes as they burn into him. "I'll see you later."

 

He closes the door and hits the stairs running, shaking his head and not caring if he looks completely insane. Like none of the people lining the streets have ever heard someone talking to themselves before. "I will not think about it. I will not think about it. I will not..."

 

*

 

Mark's fingers ghost over the guitarist, tracing out the lines of his jaw, trailing down his stomach as he holds him in place. Carefully not to tear him as his hands glide against him, flattening him back to the wall and making sure he sticks. "So, there is really no other place to do this?" He asks, grabbing the next line from the storyboard that Vince had brought home, helping him glue it against the board.

 

"It won't stay here," Vince promises, leaning over to kiss Mark on the cheek, and this time he doesn't jump. "You don't have to help if you don't want."

 

"No." Mark grabs another slide, looking over the images. He doesn't know what the movie that Vince is working on with Mike is about exactly, but seeing the slides gives him some idea. Mostly it seems to be about random people. A waitress who lives with a crazy woman (or junkie. Mark isn't sure about what the other girl in those pictures was exactly) a boy in school who spends most of his slides yelling at his parents, some guy standing on the edge of a bridge, a dentist with a husband and two kids she hates (or, at least that is what Mark thinks) having an affair, and this guy. The rock star with a killer smile, standing up on his stage and singing to the crowd, pouring himself and his pain and the essences of his life out to them and being all but ignored.

  
  


Again, that is just a guess. Really it's just a scribbled drawing of a guy with a guitar standing about a bunch of circles he thinks are heads in the crowd. It's just a way to help with camera angles, yeah, but Mark thinks he knows this guy, and he can see past the crappy drawings into what's really happening.

 

"Thanks for helping me," Vince says, slapping the next line onto his own board. Mark glances over, and the rocker is sleeping with the girl from the café. He could do better than that, Mark thinks, but he doesn't say anything because it's just some drawing for a character in a film, about as removed from a real person as you can get. "I promise, I'll have these out of here by tomorrow."

 

"I said it's no big deal," Mark says, smiling up at Vince who always seems so worried about doing the right thing with Mark and is completely and utterly his style, so there. "So, in this movie... Do you guys need music?" Mark asks as he turns back to his board, pasting on the next strip of paper. The musician climbing off stage, talking with someone for a while before heading back behind a door. It shuts and he's gone. Scene change. "Because, you know, Roger has this song that... I don't know. I can picture it perfectly here."

 

"Hmm," Vince says, and Mark isn't sure what that means. Is that a good sound, like pleased for the help or bad like annoyed at Mark for suggesting something for a movie that isn't his and that he has no rights to? See, Vince is always careful about being a good boyfriend but Mark is horrible at relationships. He is always saying things like that, and then not thinking about them until after they're impossible to take back. He did those sorts of things with Maureen all the time. Well, at least Vince couldn't suddenly turn gay on him. "Was it in your film?"

 

"Uh..." See, that doesn't help Mark at all. He still has no idea what to say that would be the good boyfriend thing. So he just starts rambling. "Yeah, it was. Early in, just a bit of it I think. I shot that before I knew I was making a documentary about us, but then I had to add it. You can't really have a film without music, you know? Those two things pretty much go together." Because now he just sounds like a self-centered idiot doing nothing but talking about his own film, Mark shuts up again. "Here, let me hum some," he mutters quickly, and then tries to hum a few bars of Roger's song, but Mark's pretty tone death. It doesn't go well. It certainly doesn't sound anything like the song he's thinking of.

 

"You know," Vince says, slapping on the next panel which is the girl's roommate, chasing out the musician with a knife. This doesn't help Mark figure out if she's a junkie or crazy, but he thinks he's getting the point of this story. Little things like seeing a crazy druggie running through an apartment after a naked guitarist sometimes hold the meaning of an entire movie. "There is still some time, if you've thought about it more and want to get your film into the festival."

 

Mark groans audibly, which is definitely not a good boyfriend thing but he can't help it. Shit, not this subject again. Vince stops with the board, smiling almost apologetically at him, but Mark can tell that doesn't mean he's going to stop. "I even picked up the forms," he says, going to his bag and riffling through a bunch of papers in search of the last thing Mark wants to see right now. "I thought we could fill them out... We don't even have to turn them in, but maybe just filling them out would make you less nervous about it."

 

"Vince..." Mark lets go of the board and it collapses to the ground. He isn't worried about it right now. He lets the musician lie there, face down, unable to see Mark's inability to compete as he grabs for Vince's hand to try and stop him from finding those forms that he won't fill out anyway, because he can't go to that festival. "Vince, I'm not going to, alright?"

 

Vince looks up, frowning at Mark, and he hates that because he looks all disappointed and hurt, but at least he stops looking. "Mark, come on. I know the film is still rough but you have all this potential and you're... Not even doing anything about it." That is right. He isn't doing anything about it. The film is rough, and Mark is beyond trying to fix it up. How is he supposed to smooth over a movie where all his friends keep dying?

 

"It doesn't even have an ending," Mark insists, going to pick the board up off the ground and hoping they can just move past this conversation. Mark spends enough time thinking about these things on his own. He doesn't need other people trying to pry even more out of him. At least when it's just in his head, he can pretend he never even thought certain things. Forced amnesia for the sake of censorship and his sanity.

 

"Look." Vince's arm falls against his waist and Mark sort of wiggles away from it. Not that he hates Vince touching him - no, he really likes the touching in a relationship especially after so long of being touch-free. Just right now, Mark wants to work on this board. He wants to be consumed in this story of other people having sex and being chased out and left just like they were before, alienated and confused. That sounds like a good idea right now. "Why don't you tell me how it ends, and I'll see if I can help."

 

"I'm going to go get something to drink," Mark announces, leaning his board up against the wall and brushing his hands and the glue stuck to them down his jeans. "You want anything?" He is already out the door, though, not waiting for Vince to answer. It's a bad exit, but Mark really needed to get out of that room.

 

It felt thick with something, ready to explode. The whole loft is staring to feel like that a whole lot recently and Mark is afraid that if he says the wrong thing he'll be the one who sets off the chain fireball reaction.

 

Shaking out his head as he walks very slowly towards the fridge, delaying going back into his room as much as he can, Mark tries to clear out his head. No need for deep thoughts right now. He can just go in there and work until he's exhausted and fall right asleep and then everything will be taken care of. Sure, nothing will change except that Mike will have his story boards, but maybe that little thing will help Mark feel better about all the big things that he can't talk about or change. It won't and he knows it, but he likes to think that just maybe.

 

He's taking out a beer that is half finished and smells like ass (who the fuck knows how that happened, and Mark doesn't care so long as that ass is alcoholic) when he notices that the loft sounds like New York. Which makes sense, because the loft is part of New York and it should sound like the city, but it does more so than usual. It sounds like the streets and cars and people yelling at each other and someone yelling that they're all going to hell unless they repent and then silence as some kid actually tries to argue with the crazy guy about sin. It sounds like the New York streets.

 

Turning around, Mark notices the window to the fire escape is wide open, and that is where all the noise is coming from. It's open because Roger is standing out on the cold metal faux-balcony, leaning over and watching who knows what - a business man scorning a homeless man just looking for some change or some girl dragging her kids along or a guy peeing on a cat. It wouldn't really make a difference. Mark takes a long sip of the beer and - Oh, God. Bad idea. That shit is nasty. Pouring it out in the sink, he tosses the bottle and goes to climb out the window. Because if he can't get drunk he can freeze himself to death. That sounds like a wonderful plan.

 

"Hey," Mark says, leaning over to stare at Roger, whose eyes never leave the ground. Mark glances down with him, but there is nothing there. Not even someone curled up asleep in their doorway. It's just concrete and trash that Roger is staring so intently at, and even though he isn't looking at Mark, he starts to fidget like he's being watched. "What are you doing out here?"

 

"Nothing," Roger says, and that concentration is broken as he shrugs, his body slumping down over the cold metal bar. He is still looking down, but it isn't as scary as before, like he was contemplating being down there with all that nothingness in one big splat. "I just don't like listening to you two fucking is all. Thought I'd give you some privacy."

 

"Err... Thanks," Mark mutters, because that seems like the sort of thing to thank someone for. Not listening to him having sex. Mark certainly never left when April and Roger were having sex. Of course, through a lot of that Mark didn't have a girlfriend and at least then he had someone else moaning while he jerked off. "But we weren't fucking. We're just doing some work."

 

"Oh." Roger's hand goes to his mouth, the bright orange sparks of a cigarette burning between his fingers and Mark wonders if he's really been smoking it all this time, or if it's just burned down while Roger watched New York sort of go by them. He isn't sure why he has this thought, but it comes to him as Roger wraps his lips around the cigarette and takes in a deep breath. Maybe Mark should complain about him smoking, but Roger has other things to worry about than a cigarette, so he leaves him alone about it. "That explains why you're out here."

 

"Well..." Mark frowns, and now he's the one looking down at the sidewalk, watching two people walk by, arms wrapped around each other. Through the coats and everything, Mark can't tell who they are but he imagines it's the musician and the waitress going to her place, and the singer doesn't know it yet but he's about to have a crazy woman jumping him in the middle of the night. Have fun with that, Mark thinks to him as they pass by. "I just needed a break. He brought up the festival again and, fuck, I'm tired of him asking me to submit something to it."

 

"Not just something," Roger says, warm smoke curling up around them, and Mark leans in a little closer, smelling the nicotine and Roger and the fire burning between his fingers as they fall back down over the side, cigarette slowly burning up as they both stare downwards. "Your film. Why don't you just show it?"

 

Does no one feel like letting go of this and just trusting Mark when he says he can't submit the film? He expected at least Roger to understand, or maybe to just leave him alone about it. He looks over to his best friend, frowning at him as if this will change Roger's mind and make him take it back. Say something nasty about Vince's habit of trying to pressure Mark into this. Of course, he says nothing and just watches the street below. "I can't," Mark asserts, glowering down at the concrete. Upset with all its cracks and bumps and imperfections for no reason expect that general anger at his film that he needs to displace into something. "It's not finished and -"

 

"So?" Roger asks, taking another breath from the cigarette as he pulls away from the edge, leaning against the wall of their building. Mark looks back at him, waiting for him to say more after interrupting him. He just stands there, staring upwards now. Always somewhere expect for straight ahead.

 

"So," Mark says, turning around and watching Roger for some flicker of something. He isn't even sure what he is looking for. Maybe for Roger to give in and look at him, but this doesn't happen. He watches the smoke rise from his lips and he watches the sky lit up by all New York and he watches something that Mark can't see, but he never looks at Mark. "I can't show an unfinished film without an ending." That is just common sense, and Mark doesn't get why he has to defend that so much recently.

 

"But..." Roger says, head knocking against the brick as he leans back, biting at his rough and chapped lips. A small gesture. A nervous gesture. One that Mark saw every time he got on stage, those first few seconds where he's still trying to find his footing. When Roger used to get up on stage. "When you get your ending, I won't be here to see it."

 

The air sounds like New York. It sounds like cars honking at one another and people cussing, mothers yelling at their kids and drunken laughter and college students screaming and running around to crash into one another. It doesn't sound like Mark and Roger talking, because Roger is staring upward and Mark can't say anything.

 

*

 

There is something orderly and yet chaotic about being on set of a film in progress. Mark knows this doesn't make real sense, because there isn't any order in chaos, but with people running around yelling direction at each other and trying to get in place and yet everything smoothly fitting in by the time Mike yells for the lights, it feels like both can exists perfectly within filming.

 

So that he doesn't get in the way and throw off the cycle that everyone but him seems to be perfectly in tune with, Mark sits back on one of the tables not in the scene, legs curled up under him and slumped down like a kid bored to death but his eyes go back and fourth to try and catch everything at once in the excitement of the moment. He has never been on a film set like this, with real actors and real crew, all trying to get this one moment down perfectly and it's making Mark's heart do these weird jumps as he studies them.

 

This moment is in a small café that Mike seized for this scene and is of the rock star trying to speak with the deaf waitress. Mark has seen the storyboard, and he knows it works out for him all right. At least the communication part. Sex is apparently a pretty easy thing to convey regardless of barriers.

 

Mark watches the camera's role and the silence of the crew as they film the scene for what Mike swears will be the last time. When they're done, he asks for one more shot and everyone groans and takes a ten-minute break while Mike talks with the owner of the café. Mark is even interested in watching that and anything else Mike does because this all seems so amazing to him, seeing a real film being made. If Mike goes to take a shit, Mark might just follow.

 

"What are you doing all the way back here?" Vince asks as he leans over the table, giving Mark a quick kiss. Recently all the kisses seem to be so fast that Mark hardly ever has time to even kiss back. Right now he's drowning in this world of film, so it doesn't really matter because he probably couldn't stop gaping long enough to get his mouth working like that.

 

"I'm trying to stay out of your way." He hops down off the table, looking over Vince's shoulder at the camera. He really wants to touch it, fingers almost itching just to reach out and grab for it, but he holds himself back. "I didn't know these films were such a big deal."

 

"Mike makes a big deal out of everything," Vince says, reaching over Mark and grabbing his bag, pulling out a bottle of water. Mark always wondered who would buy water in a bottle, but he doesn't say anything when he sees most of the crew pulling some out. Maybe he's just missed something. "You having fun?"

 

"Yeah," Mark says, nodding a bit and looking back from the equipment to Vince, smiling at him as thanks for letting him tag along. Of course, maybe he'll thank him more later. He hopes so. There hasn't been thanks in a while, and by thanks he means sex, and Mark isn't sure why. It isn't like he isn't willing or one of them is pregnant or something. There should be sex, right? But Vince just seems... He smiles at Mark, but he's distant. It doesn't make sense. Like orderly chaos and bottled water.

 

"Hey," Mark says, watching Mike carefully as he gets done talking with the manager and moves on to the actors. Mark has been watching him closely all day, listening to everything he said and trying to figure out what it is about him that makes him a brilliant director. Like if he can find it in someone else, he can dig it out of himself. It isn't copying. It is like how Roger listened to the Beatles as a kids, loves them still even if he wouldn't tell anyone. He doesn't sound like them, but he figured out what he liked about them, and he keeps that with him. Mark feels like he's missing that and if he could find it, he could find an ending without... Without things having to happen. "You know how Mike keeps saying what this scene is supposed to be about?"

 

"Oh, yeah," Vince says, setting his bottle back down and leaning up against the booth, head cocked as he watches Mark like he's waiting for him to say something stupid. Or maybe Mark just thinks that because he feels stupid for asking this. "He does that a lot, I guess."

 

"Yeah..." Mark nods, looking around Vince at the camera. Really wanting to hold it. Like filming his answer will somehow help Mark feel less foolish. It will make it less real, at least. "Well, uh... You think... What do you think my film is about?"

 

See, it is a stupid question. Mark should be able to answer that on his own. And he can, sort of. He knows what he thinks it's about, he knows what it should be about, but he just needs to hear it from Vince. It's about friendship and trials, right? That is what he is waiting to hear. It's about being able to keep going on, even when you know the ending.

 

Vince's forehead wrinkles up like he has to think really hard about this, and Mark feels like pushing him just a little. This is easy. He just needs to give Mark the answer he wants to hear. "I guess it's about a filmmaker," Vince says, slowly turning the words over like this is so hard when the answer is right there in front of him. Mark just needs to be reassured. "Who is lonely and desperate and in love with a rock star that he can't save, so he's trying to... I don't know... Keep him alive somehow. And everything they're up against." He looks back to Mark, face still twisted up in concentration. "Is that right?"

 

"It isn't." That isn't what Mark needed to hear at all. That is so off what he needed that he isn't even sure how to react but, yeah, he really needs that camera now to record this and edit it back out of his life. "I mean, no. That isn't close. It's about life and death and being able to move on."

 

Vince raises an eyebrow, and that look is clear enough, like Mark is the one who is talking completely nonsense. "Have you seen your own film?" Enough that Mark can take parts of it and actually has to wonder if he was there or if his camera was just set to the side, because all he remembers is what it looks like on film. What kind of question is that?

 

"Well..." Mark is still reeling with no idea how to answer any of these things that Vince has brought up. Why would he say that? Why is still looking at Mark like he expects some sort of reaction? "That would mean..."

 

"It means a lot," Vince says, but he shrugs like it is nothing and that just confuses Mark even more. He should stick to something. Being casual or else taking Mark's entire life and spinning it around until it looks almost nothing like the original. He can't do both.

 

Only, if Mark were to admit - no, if Mark were in love with an unnamed, unspecified musician would that really change his life so much? It wouldn't be that different from now, would it, only without Vince and maybe with some more awkwardness, but most of the time that is there anyway. Oh, God... See, his stomach should never twist up like that with a revelation.

 

"So," Mark says, and he's trying to act casual, too, but Vince reaches out and rubs his shoulder and that means he must look ready to fall apart. Or about as ready as he ever looked before, because even if this is all stuff that Mark already knew, he was never supposed to hear it. He really never meant to make a film about it at all. "How does it end, then?"

 

"Right now?" Vince frowns like he doesn't want to answer, and Mark keeps staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Finally he sighs. "I guess, when the rock star dies and the filmmaker is all alone."

 

Shit.

 

"Why..." Mark really isn't sure what he's about to ask there, but Vince fills in.

 

"Because I'm the sort of stupid, self-destroying guy that likes to ruin his own relationships with these sorts of observations." That definitely is not what Mark was about to ask, but he nods and accepts it. Since he's apparently breaking up with Vince, not even really sure how that happened, it seems only nice to let him complain about it. "I think I've managed to fuck up every single relationship I've ever had like that."

 

"That's great," Mark mutters, and no it isn't great but that is about all he can say right now. He pulls back from Vince's hand, and he'd listen more to him talking but he's never been decent boyfriend material and he really, really needs to get home. "I have to go."

 

"Yeah," Vince says with a sigh, slumping down into the booth and around them everyone is rushing to get back into place but now one of the parts is missing, staring up at Mark with a sort of broken look. Without even meaning to, Mark has managed to mess up the order in the chaos. Well, at least it makes sense now. "I figured."

 

*

 

"Roger, do you love me? Roger, do you love me? Roger, do you love me?" People in New York are probably used to seeing beaten down guys walking down the street chanting to themselves under their breath. Mark probably only looks a little crazy and anyway, he doesn't really care. On his walk home, this is what he's decided that he is saying. It is the only thing that he's come up with that only sounds half way stupid, and the only thing he can say without getting so sick he'll be unable to finish the sentence. Simple, quick, to the point. This is going to be like taking off a band aid, Mark tells himself, and when it's over either he'll see that everything has healed up perfectly or there will be a big, puss-filled infection waiting for him.

 

Maybe not the best image, but it is pretty much what he is stuck with. Either Roger says yes or Roger stares at him like he's a freak, and Mark will probably never be able to talk to him again without having the urge to go to the fire escape and jump. He's thought about it, and he gives it a 20% chance of yes, a 75% chance of the staring, and a 5% chance that Roger will just walk out the door and never talk to him again. He's really holding out for one of the first two.

 

"Roger, do you love me? Roger, do you love me? Roger, do you love me?" He keeps saying it all the way back to the loft. Mark has never done this before. He is just not that guy who can go out and admit that he loves someone like that. Even if he isn't exactly doing it, it's close enough that it makes him want to turn around and take off running. He never said it to Vince or Kathy or Sasha. He said it twice to Maureen, but both of those times involved sex, and he isn't sure that counts. Love you is more Roger's style. He's emotional and open, even if he hates to admit it. Mark can hardly get like that with himself. That is what films are for, to be emotional and open. Mark is better at saving those things for the screen.

 

So he keeps saying it to himself so that he'll remember that, for once in his life, he is not going to be the goofy best friend. He is not going to be that guy behind the camera. He is going to march in there and be honest and then... Then he has no idea what is going to happen after that. No more scripting. No more figuring out and waiting for the ending. This time there is going to be a little improvement in his life.

 

So it's "Roger, do you love me? Roger, do you love me? Roger, do you love me?" up each stair. Deep breath and a determined fist around the railing as he pulls himself up to the top floor and he's had to have asked Roger a thousand times by now, a different response playing through his head each time. But at least he's got it locked down. This is going to happen.

 

When he finally opens the door, and it takes him a few times with a hand covered in sweat and slipping off the handle every time he grabs for it, his first thought is: Oh, God, someone kill it please.

 

Roger plucks another note and the sound vibrates out of the amp like the sounds of hell are boiling up through his guitar. He starts to mess around with the exposed wiring, which has to be safe, turning and frowning at Mark as he sees him standing there in the doorway and wincing at the sound. "I'm trying to fix it."

 

"Yeah. I hear," Mark mutters, plugging his ears as he sees Roger go for his guitar again, but he doesn't strike any more notes. He slips the strap over his neck, setting it to the side and switching the amp off so that the loft is no longer filled with the harsh static. Cautiously, Mark moves his hands back from his ears and closes the door. "Hey."

 

"Hey," Roger says, curling up on the couch and staring at Mark. Not up or down, but right at Mark. Bad time to start doing that, Mark thinks, and wishes that maybe Roger would look away for just a second so that if anything goes wrong Mark could claim it wasn't him. "What happened to the day out?"

 

Day out? Right, with Vince and there is something Mark could spare thinking about for a while. It seems like lately he's been doing a lot of that. Putting thoughts on hold. "Oh... Uh, that ended. Roger-"

 

"Could you get me a beer?" That is another one of those things Roger says that Mark doesn't follow. It doesn't help that he has these words in his head that he needs to say before he messes them up, and then Roger interprets him asking for a beer.

 

"Umm..." Mark steps towards the fridge and then stops before he even has to open it. "Yeah, we're out. Plus, the last one sort of tasted like ass."

 

Roger laughs at that, and Mark smiles at making him laugh even if he hadn't meant to. "That's okay," he says, shrugging a bit. "I like ass."

 

"Well, we don't even have any ass beer left," Mark points out, going to the couch and falling down next to Roger, smiling at him as he feels more relaxed because, well, he doesn't have to say those words right now, and it is nice to be with Roger without having to say anything. "We have nothing."

 

"That sucks," Roger says, turning and smiling at Mark. Really, honestly smiling like Mark has said something brilliant in relating beer to ass. Anyway, it's the first time he's been smiling like that in a while and Mark soaks it in. "I was in the mood for ass beer."

 

"That's too bad. We're fresh out. I could go buy some normal beer, though." Mark doesn't have to say those words at all, now that he thinks about it. Roger knows that he loves him, even if it's just a best friend thing and Mark shouldn't have to ask if Roger loves him back. Besides, he makes a bad boyfriend, always forgetting days and saying things he doesn't mean and messing up the relationship by occasionally forgetting about it all together. But he makes a pretty good best friend, and one that he likes to think Roger needs around.

 

"You can't afford beer, ass or not," Roger accuses, kicking at Mark's leg, and Mark jerks back quickly, laughing at him for no good reason. Just because they feel okay like this, and it feels okay that Mark can't afford beer and everything will be okay. Even if Mark knows that, eventually, his film is going to end, it will still be okay because he can make this middle stuff right here really count. "Let's go out," he suggests, prodding Roger's arm. "And see if we can't find someone willing to give us beer for free."

 

"Yeah, because those kind hearted people all over New York," Roger snorts, but he actually stands up and pulls Mark to his feet, laughing as Mark stumbles a bit out of surprise before catching himself. "But, hey, if anyone has to be whored out to get me a drink, I want you to know it's gonna be your ass on the line."

 

"What is with the ass obsession?" Mark asks as they head out to get a drink, to fill the time, and Mark doesn't even think about bringing his camera. Maybe this once he can leave a scene or two out of his movie and just enjoy it to himself. "And why do I have to be the whore?"

 

"Because you are one," Roger says, nodding very seriously as they head down the stairs. "And you know it." Yep, Mark thinks. This is just about perfect as far as they go.


End file.
